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STORY OF DOUGLAS 


BY 

SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON 

AUTHOR OF ‘ POOR BOYS WHO BECAME FAMOUS,” ” GIRLS WHO BE- 
CAME FVMOUS,” ‘‘FAMOUS AMERICAN AUTHORS,” ‘‘FAMOUS 
AMERICAN STATESMEN,” “ FAMOUS MEN OF SCIENCE,” 

‘‘ FAMOUS EUROPEAN ARTISTS,” “ FAMOUS TYPES OF 
WOMANHOOD,” “STORIES FROM LIFE,” “FROM 
HEART AND NATURE” (POEMS), “FAMOUS ENG- 
LISH AUTHORS,” “ FAMOUS ENGLISH STATES- 
MEN,” “ FAMOUS VOYAGERS,” “ FAMOUS 
LEADERS AMONG WOMEN,” “ FAMOUS 
LEADERS AMONG MEN,” “ SOCIAL 
STUDIES IN ENGLAND,” “THE 
INEVITABLE, AND OTHER 
POEMS,” ETC. 



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CLEVELAND, OHIO 

1898 





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GLAS 


BY 

SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON 

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AUTHOR OF “ POOR BOYS WHO BECAME FAMOUS,” “ GIRLS WHO BE- 
CAME FAMOUS,” ” FAMOUS AMERICAN AUTHORS,” ” FAMOUS 
AMERICAN STATESMEN,” “ FAMOUS MEN OF SCIENCE,” 
“FAMOUS EUROPEAN ARTISTS,” “FAMOUS TYPES OF 
WOMANHOOD,” “STORIES FROM LIFE,” “FROM 
HEART AND NATURE ” (POEMS), “ FAMOUS ENG- 
LISH AUTHORS,” “ FAMOUS ENGLISH STATES- 
MEN,” “ FAMOUS VOYAGERS,” “ FAMOUS 
LEADERS AMONG WOMEN,” “ FAMOUS 
LEADERS AMONG MEN,” “ SOCIAL 
STUDIES IN ENGLAND,” “ THE 
INEVITABLE, AND OTHER 
POEMS,” ETC. 



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CLEVELAND, OHIO 




Copyright, 1898 , 

By Thomas Y. Crowell & Company. 


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ROCKWILL ANO CHURCHILL PRESS, BOSTON 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


T~\OUGLAS was a shaggy black puppy, one 
of a family of eleven, all of them yellow 
and white but himself. His fur, when you 
pushed it apart, showed its yellow color near 
the skin, revealing what he really was, — a St. 
Bernard. 

He was the most gentle of all the puppies, 
and would not fight his way at the dish when 
the others clamored for their bread and milk, 
but stood apart and looked up to his mistress 
with a beseeching and sometimes aggrieved 
air. From the first he seemed to hunger for 
human affection, and would cry to be held in 
one’s lap, or follow one about the house or the 
grounds like a petted kitten. 

When quarrels took place between some 
members of the large family Douglas never 
joined, but hastened to tell it by his bark, that 
the disturbance might be quelled. When 
finally the puppies went to various homes 
Douglas became the property of a lady who, 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


not having children, loved him almost as a 
child. 

He followed her up and down stairs and lay 
at her feet if she read. The house was well 
furnished, but not too good to be used and 
enjoyed. Douglas was not put out of doors at 
night to whine in the rain or sleet, or even into 
a barn, and wisely, for he saved the house once 
from very unwelcome intruders. 

He gambolled beside his mistress if she 
walked in the woods, and when she was ill he 
was constantly at her bedside, refusing to eat, 
and seeming to suffer in her suffering. When 
she was unavoidably absent Douglas cried and 
walked the floor, and if allowed to go out of 
doors howled and waited on the hillside for 
her return. 

Once when at the sea-shore he followed 
her without her knowledge, and plunged into 
the bay after her steamer. He swam till well- 
nigh exhausted, his agonized owner fearing 
every minute that he would sink, while she 
besought the men to stop the boat. Finally he 
was rescued, and though he could scarcely 
move the glad look in his eyes and the wag of 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


his tail told as plainly as words the joy of the 
reunion. 

No amount of money could buy the com- 
panionable creature. He never wearied one by 
talk ; he never showed anger, perhaps because 
no one spoke angrily to him. Some persons 
like to show authority, even over a dog, and 
talk loud and harsh, but Douglas’s owner was 
too wise and too good for this. Kindness 
begot kindness, and the puppy who longed for 
love appreciated it none the less when he was 
grown, and could protect the woman who loved 
him. 

One autumn day, just before leaving her 
country home for the city. Miss Benson was 
obliged to return to town for a half day. 
“ Good-by, dear Douglas,” she said in her 
usual way. “ I shall come home soon,” and 
the unwilling creature followed her with his 
brown eyes, and whined that he could not go 
also. Later in the afternoon he was let out of 
doors, and soon disappeared. 

When Miss Benson returned her first word 
was, “ Douglas ! Douglas ! ” but there was no 
response to her call. He had followed her, had 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


lost the trail, and had gone too far to find his 
way back to his home. In vain she called for 
her pet. She left the door ajar, hoping at 
nightfall she should hear the patter of his feet, 
or his eager bark to come in, but he did not 
come. She wondered where he slept, if he 
slept at all ; thought a dozen times in the night 
that she heard him crying at the door; imag- 
ined him moaning for her, or, supperless and 
exhausted, lying down by the roadside, to wait 
for the sunrise to begin his fruitless journey. 

Douglas had become that sad thing, a lost 
dog. He belonged to nobody now, and both 
owner and dog were desolate. Miss Benson 
could scarcely go about her work. She spent 
days in searching, and hired others to search, 
but all was useless. For weeks she thought 
Douglas might possibly come back. If she 
could know that he was dead, that even would 
be a consolation ; but to fear he was cold and 
hungry, to realize that the world is all too indif- 
ferent to animals, unless perchance they are 
our own, to imagine he might be in some medi- 
cal college, the victim of the surgeon’s knife, 
— all this was bitter in the extreme. Weeping 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS, 


and searching did no good, and finally the 
inevitable had to be accepted, though the sad- 
ness in Miss Benson’s heart did not fade out. 

As is ever the case, those of us who have 
lost something precious become more tender 
and helpful in a world full of losses. Miss Ben- 
son welcomed and cared for every stray animal 
that she found, perhaps never quite giving up 
the hope that she would see gentle, great- 
hearted Douglas again. 

And what of Douglas? He ran fast at first, 
eager to overtake the one to whom he was 
passionately devoted. She had been gone so 
long that he soon lost track of her footsteps, 
and then with a dazed look he began to howl, 
hoping that she would hear his voice. He lay 
down to rest, but it was growing dark and he 
was hungry. 

He stopped at a large house and the servants 
drove him away. He was unused to this, but 
he dragged himself along to the next place. 
Here a kind woman gave him something to eat, 
and would have made him welcome for the 
night, but he would not stay after he had eaten. 
He must needs wander on, hoping to find his 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


home and his beloved mistress. All night long 
he tramped, lying down now and then by the 
side of the road to rest a few minutes. 

The next day was a hard one. He was 
beginning to realize that he was lost. He ran 
more slowly, looked eagerly at every passer-by, 
and seemed half demented. At night he 
stopped at a home where the lights had just 
been lighted, and some pretty children seemed 
flitting from room to room. He whined at the 
back door. 

A flaxen-haired little girl opened it. “ Oh, 
mamma,” said the child, “ here is a big black 
dog, and I know he is hungry ! May I feed 
him?” 

“ No,” replied the woman, “ take a whip and 
send him off. I will have no lean stray dogs 
about this house.” 

“But he looks hungry, mother,” pleaded 
little Emma Bascomb, “ and I know he won’t 
bite.” 

Mrs. Bascomb, pity it is to tell it, was a 
very pious person, never failing to be present 
at prayer-meetings, always deeply interested 
in the heathen, and most helpful at sewing soci- 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


eties of the church. She never fed stray cats 
or dogs, as she did not wish them to stay at 
her house. She did not remember that God 
made them, and that He lets not a sparrow fall 
to the ground without His notice, and she for- 
got that she was to emulate Him. 

Mrs. Bascomb varied her treatment of stray 
dcgs and cats. Sometimes she used a long 
black whip, sometimes pails of water. On this 
occasion she threw on Douglas, already weak 
and hungry, a pail of cold water, and sent 
him frightened and hurt away from her door. 
Emma protested. “When I have a home of 
my own, mamma,” she said, “ I will never turn 
away a dog or a cat hungry.” The child knew 
that it was useless to say more, as a stray cat 
had stayed about the house for a week, and 
Mrs. Bascomb had refused to feed it, burning 
up the scraps from the table lest some starving 
animal might be tempted to remain. And yet 
the Bascombs had family prayers, and asked 
God to provide clothes for the needy and food 
for the hungry ! 

Douglas was beginning to learn the sorrows 
of the poor and homeless. He longed to see 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


some familiar face, to hear some familiar voice. 
He went on and on, and it began to rain. It 
was almost sleet, and the dog, used to a warm 
fire, shivered and longed for shelter. Ap- 
proaching a large rambling house with a shed 
attached, Douglas ran under it for cover, and 
crouched down at the side under a bench. A 
man came out with a lamp. Evidently he had 
been drinking, for his step was unsteady. He 
had come out to close the shed door, and es- 
pying the dog gave him a kick with his hard 
boot. 

“ Get out, you scoundrel ! What are you 
doing here? ” he said gruffly, and poor Douglas 
ran as though a gun had been fired at him. 

“ Oh, if there were only a home for such 
lost ones!” he must have thought; but there 
was none, and again the hungry and wet dog 
travelled on. A wagon soon passed with two 
men in it, and Douglas followed, hoping it 
would lead to a home for him. “ Whip him 
off,” said one of the men to the other. “ We Ve 
got two dogs already, and my wife would never 
allow a third,” and they brandished the whip in 
the rear and drove on. Douglas crawled under 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


a tree, and rolling himself as nearly as he could 
into a round ball for warmth finally fell asleep. 

In the morning he started again on his toil- 
some journey. He was lame now and half sick. 
Soon the houses were nearer together, and 
Douglas realized that he was coming into a 
city. He did not know there was little room 
for dogs in an overcrowded, fashionable city. 
There was little green grass to roam over, and 
the rushing world did not want the bother of 
animals. Perhaps, however, where there were 
so many people there would be some kind 
hearts, he thought. 

He crept along and looked into the window 
of a restaurant. There was a boiled ham in the 
window, cake, pies, and other attractive things. 
He wagged his tail a little, and looked into a 
man’s face as he went in, but the man paid no 
attention. Then a young lady passed, and she 
said, “ Poor dog ! ” but went on. 

Douglas walked away and lay down in front 
of a store, but a man came and said, “ Get out ! 
The ladies will be afraid of you.” 

Douglas looked no longer the petted, hand- 
some creature of several days before. The dust 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


had settled in his black hair, which looked rough 
and coarse. He was thin and dejected. An 
unthinking boy chased him, and threw some- 
thing at him, and as he was too peaceable to 
resent it he hurried along an alley and tried to 
hide up a stairway. A big red-faced man came 
out of a room at the head of the stairs and 
kicked him down the steps. 

Douglas ran into a shoe-store. Three men 
cornered him with a broom and a pole, and one 
man, braver than the others, put a cloth over 
his head, and then seized him by the hind legs 
and threw him into the street. Then somebody 
on the sidewalk said, “ That dog acts strangely. 
He must be mad ! ” 

That was enough to excite the passers-by, 
who had read in the papers various accounts of 
supposed cases of rabies. “ He is weak,” said 
one person, “ and he totters.” “ He is frothing 
at the mouth,” said another. A boot-black ran 
after him and threw his box at the thoroughly 
frightened animal. A crowd gathered, and ran 
and shouted. “ Shoot him ! Shoot him ! ” was 
the eager cry. 

Douglas did indeed froth at the mouth from 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


excessive running, A lady hurried along and 
said, “ Let me have the dog. He is not mad, 
but has lost his owner. Frothing at the mouth 
is not a sign of hydrophobia, as the best physi- 
cians will tell you.” 

‘<No, madam,” said a looker-on. “Don’t 
touch the dog. We men will not allow you 
to be bitten.” 

A policeman fired his pistol, and the ball 
entered Douglas’s shoulder. Half dead with 
pain as well as fright, the dog rushed on and 
finally escaped. 

He lay in his hiding-place till midnight, and 
then when no human eye could see him he 
crept away from the city. If only Miss Benson 
could see him now, and dress his wounds, 
and say the petting words of old that he had 
so loved to hear ! 

Towards morning, exhausted, he lay down by 
the fence in the front yard of a house in the 
outskirts of the city. The owner of the home 
was a lawyer, a kind-hearted man, in part be- 
cause he had a noble mother and wife. 

“ There ’s a poor wounded dog on our lawn, 
Jeannette,” Mr. Goodman said to his wife. “ Call 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


him in at the back door, and we ’ll see if we 
can’t help him.” 

Mrs. Goodman took a basin of warm water 
and castile soap and carefully washed the wound, 
the children standing about and anxiously 
watching the operation. “Nice dog,” said 
Teddy, a boy of five. “ He no bite.” 

“ No,” said his mother, as Douglas looked 
pitifully up into her face. “ He is a kind dog, 
and must belong to a good home somewhere.” 

After she had finished washing the sore and 
tender place Douglas licked her hand in appre- 
ciation. “Have Dr. Thayer come in,” — he 
was the veterinary surgeon, — said Mrs. Good- 
man to her husband. “ We might as well make 
the care of animals a part of our missionary 
work in the world. The doctor will find the ball, 
if it is still there, and save the dog, I hope.” 

“ All right, wife,” said Mr. Goodman, as he 
started for the office. 

“ I suppose you want some breakfast, 
doggie,” said Mrs. Goodman, and she placed 
before Douglas a dish of meat and of milk. 
Douglas was too tired and too full of pain to 
eat much, but he felt as though a new world. 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


had opened to him. After all, there were some 
good people in the land, and at last he had 
reached them. 

Dr. Thayer came, found the ball in the 
patient, abused animal, and the wounded 
shoulder soon began to heal. 

When night came Mrs. Goodman made 
Douglas a warm bed of blankets by the kitchen 
stove, ’for she knew that a cold kennel was not 
a suitable place for him. Later he was washed 
and dried, by rubbing with cloths, till his coat 
was silky and black. 

Teddy and the dog became inseparable com- 
panions. Wherever the child went Douglas 
was always close behind him, now licking his 
extended hand, now lying down for the child 
to clamber over him, or to lay his dark curls 
against the darker curls of the dog. They 
shared their food, and they frequently went to 
sleep together, if it could be called sleep on the 
part of the dog, whose eyes were usually open 
that his little charge might be guarded. Doug- 
las never showed an inclination to bite unless 
some one touched the boy, and then he growled 
and looked concerned. 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


One summer day Teddy and a playmate 
wandered off with the dog during Mrs. Good- 
man’s absence. They sat down under a tree 
and all three lunched together. Then they 
played along the meadow till the banks of a 
river were reached. Two men were working 
near by and occasionally watched the children 
at their play, as they dabbled their hands in the 
water. Finally they heard a child scream, and 
before they could reach the place Douglas was 
dragging Teddy, dripping and frightened, from 
the river. The men carried the boy home to 
his awe-struck but overjoyed parents, and 
Douglas, wet and excited, was praised for his 
heroic conduct. 

A year later, when Teddy went to school, 
Douglas missed his comrade, and for days 
whined piteously. He never failed to go, at 
the regular hour for closing school, to meet his 
little friend, and always brought home in his 
teeth the dinner basket of the lad. Sometimes 
Douglas whined in his sleep, as though he were 
dreaming of other days, but love for Teddy 
made him, on the whole, very happy. 

When Teddy was seven yes^rs old diphtheria 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


raged in the school, and marked him for one of 
its victims. No love or care could save him. 

When conscious, he could not bear Douglas 
out of his sight or reach. As in the case with 
his former mistress, Douglas neither ate nor 
slept. When all was over he disappeared. 
Where he went nobody knew. Probably he 
lay upon the grave of the child, and later 
wandered off, thinking perchance to find again 
his first love. 

The Goodmans had intended to leave their 
home in the suburbs and move to the city 
before their boy died, and now Mrs. Goodman 
was anxious to go away from the place as 
quickly as possible. A home was soon 
obtained, and the family moved thither. They 
deeply regretted that Douglas could not be 
found to go with them, because they were 
much attached to him for his own sake, and 
because he was so dear to their child. 

Douglas meantime had hunted far and wide 
for his lost ones. He had the same bitter 
experience of neglect and hunger, but a dog’s 
love is his strongest quality, and despite suffer- 
ing he was seeking his own. Miss Benson he 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


could not find ; that was past hope, but Teddy, 
perhaps, he might see again. Probably 
Douglas did not know that death has no 
awakening in this world, and that Teddy could 
never come to his home, but the dog finally 
stole back to the porch and yard where they 
had played together and waited, hoping that 
the boy would come. The house was vacant. 
Some neighbors saw him on the steps, but he 
went away again. Finally a policeman saw 
him and heard him howl. 

“ Whose dog is that ? ” he said to a neighbor. 

■ “ It ’s a dog that came to the Goodmans and 
disappeared when their little boy died. I sup- 
pose he has come back to find the child,” was 
the reply. 

“ Ah ! ” said the man, “ and he has n’t any 
collar on his neck. He is unlicensed. I will 
send the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty 
to Animals after him.” 

“I’ll see that he doesn’t starve,” said the 
woman. “ Will the Society find a home for 
him? ” 

“ Oh, no, they can’t find homes for so many 
as they take off the streets ! They ’ll kill him,” 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


“ He is n’t to blame for not being licensed. 
I don’t see the use of the license law, because 
it means the death of so many thousands of 
animals.” 

“ Neither do I,” said the kind-hearted police- 
man. “Poor folks can’t always pay the fee. I 
love my dog, and he ’s a great comfort to my 
children. But I don’t make the law. I only 
help to enforce it.” 

“ What is done with the license money? It 
makes so much heartache it ought to do great 
good.” 

“ I ’ve heard that it is given sometimes to 
public schools and to libraries to buy books on 
kindness to animals, and sometimes to the 
Humane Society so that they can pay men to 
catch and kill unlicensed dogs. You see, the 
licensed dogs help to kill the unlicensed and 
homeless,” said the man. 

“ I should think a better way would be to 
provide homes for the really homeless instead 
of killing them. I think that we have a duty 
to animals, seeing that they are under our pro- 
tection.” 

The policeman told the S. P. C. A. that a 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


black unlicensed dog was howling on the steps 
of a vacant house because his little friend had 
died. Two officers in a big wagon hastened to 
the spot, caught him, and threw him in with a 
score of other animals which they had seized 
on the street. 

Douglas cowered in the corner, and wondered 
what new sorrow had befallen him. The other 
poor things were as frightened as himself. Two 
were black and white puppies scarcely bigger 
than kittens, and two were pretty black-and- 
tan pets. A large mastiff looked out of her 
great brown eyes, trembling from head to foot. 
One shepherd dog was poor and thin, but most 
looked well cared for, only they had no collars, 
and their owners had not paid their license fee. 

The wagon soon reached a barn-like struct- 
ure, and the animals were hastily emptied into 
a pen with sawdust on the floor. What was in 
store for them they could only guess. After a 
time they were offered a mixture of meal and 
meat, but most were too frightened to eat. 

All the next day they listened for footsteps, 
hoping that some friend would come for them. 
Douglas lay in the corner and expected no- 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


body. Miss Benson did not know where he 
was, and Teddy had never come back when he 
howled for him. 

There was a large pen adjoining that of 
Douglas, and this was filled with dogs — fox- 
terriers, some black like himself, and several 
yellow ones. Cats, many of them large and 
handsome, were in cages about the room. 
Some animals had been brought to the pound, 
or refuge, by persons who did not or could not 
take the trouble to find homes for them. An 
advertisement in the paper saying that a dog had 
been found and would be given to a good home 
would in almost every case have met with re- 
sponses, but this cost a little money and time. 

A boy brought in two pretty creatures, one 
red and the other yellow, which he said he had 
found without collars. A woman had hired 
him and other children by paying each a few 
cents to do this work, which meant almost cer- 
tain death to animals, believing, probably, that 
she was doing good. 

Late in the afternoon Douglas witnessed a 
strange, sad sight. Every cat, fifty or more, 
was thrown into a large cage, and poisonous 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


gas turned in upon them. The terrified creat- 
ures huddled together, as though they knew 
their helplessness in the hands of their de- 
stroyers, and died. 

Then several men, as soon as the cats were 
removed, threw the shrinking, crying dogs into 
the cage, and they too were soon dead, piled 
upon each other. Douglas and the rest knew 
that their turn would come soon. 

On the second day a lady called at the 
refuge because her own city contemplated 
establishing a home (?) where dogs could be 
killed, the license fees to be used to pay the 
salaries of the S. P. C. A. agents. Her heart 
was touched by the appealing looks of the 
helpless animals. She went away and found 
homes for two fox-terriers, paid the license fees 
and fines, and the dogs were released, licking 
her hands, as though they realized from what 
they had been saved. 

Douglas crept towards the visitor, because he 
had been used to a woman’s voice. He was 
thin, but his eyes were as beautiful as when he 
was a puppy and responded to the petting of 
Miss Benson’s gentle hands. 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS, 


“You have been a handsome dog,” the lady 
said to Douglas, “ and somebody has loved 
you. I know of a place for you. A noble 
woman who loves dogs has provided a home 
for the homeless, as far as her means will allow, 
and is devoting her life to the care of such of 
God’s creatures as you are. Would you like to 
go with me ? ” 

Douglas whined, and the other poor animals 
crowded around as much as to say, “ Can you 
not take us too, and save us from death to-mor- 
row? We cannot pay the license, but we would 
love and protect anybody who would pay it 
and take us home.” The lady could not take 
them all — the city and State, by reason of their 
wealth and humaneness, instead of license or 
tax, should provide homes for those committed 
to their keeping by the Creator. Douglas was 
let out, and followed the lady with a thankful 
heart, but with a downcast look, as though life 
had been so uncertain that he could not be 
sure of anything good in the future. 

The lady hired a cab, and the dog lay at her 
feet. They were driven to an attractive-looking 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS, 


brick house, with several small buildings ad- 
joining. A young girl came to the door. 

“ Do you wish to see the matron of the 
Dogs’ Home? ” said the girl. 

Yes, I am a friend of the matron,” said the 
lady, “ and I have taken a fancy to a homeless 
dog and have brought him here to find a 
home.” 

The matron soon appeared, and, with one 
wild cry, Douglas sprang into her arms. It 
was Miss Benson, who, since she had lost Doug- 
las, had been moved to spend her life and her 
fortune for other dogs who were lost. 

“ Oh, Douglas ! Douglas ! ” she exclaimed, 
while the visitor looked on with amazement. 
“Have you found me and I you at last?” 
And the dog whined and caressed her till she 
feared he would die from excess of joy unless 
she calmed him. 

“ You and I will never be parted again. 
You shall live here and help care for other lost 
and unwanted ones.” 

For years Douglas thankfully shared in the 
care and love of his mistress. She could not 
bear to see him grow old, but he had suffered 


THE STORY OF DOUGLAS. 


too much to live to the usual age of St. Ber- 
nards. When he died his head was in Miss 
Benson’s lap, and his great brown eyes looked 
upon her face and whitening hair as the last 
precious thing to be seen in life. She buried 
him and laid flowers upon his grave, for was he 
not her devoted, loyal friend? A neat head- 
stone tells where faithful Douglas sleeps. 


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